


Paved With Good Intentions

by Chichirinoda



Category: Constantine (2005), Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-12
Updated: 2008-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chichirinoda/pseuds/Chichirinoda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam will go right down into hell to get his brother Dean back, and as luck would have it, John Constantine can help him do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paved With Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Благими намерениями](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7320994) by [FoggyFeline71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggyFeline71/pseuds/FoggyFeline71)



> Spoilers to the end of season 3 of Supernatural, and the post-credits scene for Constantine (and if you didn't watch that scene, go watch the movie again. In fact, just go see it again, anyway. I love that movie.)
> 
> Written for the [WTFathon](http://community.livejournal.com/whattheficathon/), a gifting fic challenge where you're assigned a crossover to write. I finished this quite a while ago, but I needed to wait until it was posted on the community before I could post it, and then I forgot *sweatdrops* Anyway, there's the story!

The scream went on and on, not in the least bit muffled by the black smoke pouring from Ruby's mouth and streaming up into the ductwork in a parody of physics. Sam wanted to put his hands over his ears, but before he could even start to recover from his shock and move to do so, the sound finally ceased and the blonde collapsed like a rag doll.

It didn't occur to him to check and see if the poor woman had survived however long as a demon host. Sam dropped to his knees beside the body of his brother and grabbed him by the shoulder, searching the unblinking green eyes. "Dean! Dean, no..." he gasped, tears spilling down his face as the glazed look in Dean's eyes confirmed what he already knew.

He wept for a few minutes, so absorbed in his grief that he wasn't aware of the passage of time, or of the sounds of gunfire outside. He didn't know where Bobby was, or why all of the demons outside had yet to come in and finish him off. He'd even completely forgotten about the terrified family downstairs in the basement, waiting for him to come and tell them it was safe to come out.

Not that the world would ever feel safe to them again. They now knew it was filled with monsters who looked like their neighbours and friends.

Eventually, the approaching sounds of gunfire finally penetrated and he looked up, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and grimacing as he hefted the blood-soaked knife in his hand again. That sounded like a _shotgun_.

A big one.

Bobby wasn't dumb enough to try to use a shotgun against possessed people and expect it to work. Bobby was supposed to lay low outside, so this sound of shotgun fire steadily getting closer couldn't be him. Who was it?

He got to his feet and moved almost subconsciously into a protective stance, over the bodies of his brother and Ruby. The shooting had stopped, but he could hear footsteps outside the door, and raised his knife threateningly as a man rounded the corner and stopped just outside the double doors that Lilith had opened to the hellhounds.

The man was dark-haired, with a skinniness and pallor that Sam associated with poor health. He was carrying a strangely-shaped golden gun that might have looked comical if it weren't so _big_. The muzzle was actually shaped like a cross, and he pointed it straight at Sam's face.

"Hey!" Sam held up his hands in surrender, letting the knife dangle but not dropping it yet. In a fight between a gun and a knife, gun wins. "I'm human, don't shoot!"

"Nice try, but it doesn't look like it from where I'm standing, mister," the man replied darkly, and squeezed the trigger.

 _Shit!_ Sam dropped down and the slug whizzed harmlessly over his head, so close that it disturbed a few hairs. He launched himself forward, moving as much out of desperation as training, and shoulder checked his assailant, wrestling him to the ground.

There was a brief tussle before Sam managed to wrest the gun from the man's hands, losing Ruby's knife in the process. He earned a savage punch to the midsection, unfortunately, and the man scrambled away while he gasped and retched, reaching for something in one of his pockets.

Sam reached into his own jacket and they both came out with their weapon at the same moment - Sam with his pistol, and the man with...a rosary.

Sam stared at the dangling cross for a moment, then barked a laugh. "You really do think I'm a demon, don't you? Well that kind of thing doesn't scare me."

The man's eyes widened. "What the fuck are you?"

"I'm a demon _hunter_ ," Sam hissed angrily, then sagged slightly, tired of the whole thing. He was starting to feel every hour of the last few weeks, most of which he'd been awake and desperately trying to find a way to save Dean - save the man who was now lying dead in the room behind him. Dead, along with Sam's heart.

He got to his feet, covering the guy with his gun. "Who are you?"

The man hesitated visibly. "That depends on who's asking."

"Screw you," Sam informed him, tired right down to his bones of this bullshit. "The one asking is the one with the gun. Besides, I already answered one question. It's your turn."

"What is this, a game?" the man returned sarcastically.

"Doesn't look like a game from where I'm standing," Sam replied tightly.

They glared at each other for a good thirty seconds.

"John Constantine," the man finally said, tight-lipped and angry.

That wasn't terribly enlightening. "Sam Winchester," Sam replied. He saw a flicker of recognition in John's eyes, but he didn't look surprised. Had he expected to find them here? Sam was used to other hunters knowing who he was by now.

"My brother Dean's in there," Sam said, jerking the thumb of his free hand over his shoulder. "I assume you took care of the demons outside, and for that I'll say thanks, but right now I'm not in the mood for conversation. You can either help me get him and Ruby out of here, or go help the family down in the basement and get out of my sight. I really don't care which."

John got to his own feet and straightened his tie, but watched Sam suspiciously the whole way. What was _with_ him? "Why does the family in the basement need help?" he asked.

It was too much. "Oh, I don't know," Sam snapped. "Maybe because a demon's been possessing their daughter and terrorizing them for I don't know _how_ long?"

A door slammed open and both of them whirled, but Sam relaxed when he saw Bobby come around the corner and stop. "Hey kid, how's-- never mind," he said, his voice dropping when he saw Sam's face. He ran a hand over his face. "What happened to Lilith?"

"She's gone," Sam said miserably. "She possessed Ruby's body, and then left when I...when I threatened her with the knife."

He hated that this John guy was listening, while he could barely hold back his grief; that he had to dance around things in front of him, because he obviously was just looking for another excuse to shoot him.

John was looking thoughtful, though, and not so aggressive. He glanced from Bobby to Sam and back. "And you are?" he asked finally, turning to Bobby.

"This is Bobby," Sam said aggressively, before he could answer. He felt protective, suddenly. Bobby was the only one left, and he had to physically restrain himself from stepping between John and Bobby. "Bobby, this is John Constantine."

"John Constantine?" Bobby echoed, his eyes widening. So he recognized the name? Why did everyone know everyone else, and Sam knew no one? "Jesus Christ. I heard you were _dead_."

"Not yet," John said, pulling a piece of gum from his pocket and popping it into his mouth. "Bobby...You're probably Bobby Singer, right?"

"That's right," Bobby said. "I'm guessing you know my boy Sam here, too?"

John's eyes flicked back to Sam. "I've heard of him," he said coldly.

There was a short silence, then Bobby spoke up again. "Thanks for taking care of those bastards outside. Now, Sammy and I need a moment. We'll catch up with you outside." There was no room for argument in Bobby's tone.

John didn't exactly hop-to, but he did nod mutinously and turn away. "I'll go take care of those poor saps in the basement," he said. "Then we'll talk."

Sam wasn't in a talking mood. He turned around and marched back into the room, but couldn't quite bring himself to look at Dean again. He heard Bobby draw in a sharp breath, and stared fixedly at Ruby. Her chest was rising and falling rhythmically, but there was no sign of life beyond that.

Bobby cleared his throat, and his voice was a little hoarse when he spoke. "Let's get him into the car," he said. "Ruby...or whatever her real name is - we'd better take her to a hospital right away."

Sam nodded mechanically, glad that Bobby seemed to have some clue of what to do next. "Okay," he said. He forced himself to turn towards Dean and watched as Bobby passed a hand over Dean's face to close his eyes.

He felt like an ass for not having thought of it himself, and suddenly felt like crying all over again.

But there was no time to cry. He bent and took hold of Dean's shoulders.

When they carried Dean out of the room, they encountered John again, leading the frightened family up from the basement. Sam could hear him speaking in quiet, reassuring tones to the parents, and heard the word 'demon' mentioned. He and Bobby stopped and waited as they were led past them, and Sam watched the little girl, who was clinging tightly to both her parents' hands.

She looked amazingly calm, though Sam could see the stains of tears on her face. He vividly recalled his own bout of possession, and how horrible it had felt to watch helplessly while the demon used his body to hurt his friends. How much worse must it have been for a little girl to endure?

Recalling that, it seemed strangely creepy that she wasn't in hysterics. But even as he thought of it, she turned her head and spotted Sam. Her eyes widened with terror and she burst into tears.

Sam swallowed hard as the girl's mother swung her into her arms and tried desperately to comfort her and calm her down. The mother glanced back at Sam apologetically, and then they all passed out the front door and outside.

Bobby glanced at Sam with an inscrutable expression, but Sam just ducked his head and they continued on their way in silence. She had to have remembered him coming to her bed with a knife in his hand. No wonder she was scared of him now.

Outside, the family was already getting into their own car, and Sam and Bobby carried Dean to the Impala, awkwardly manoeuvring him into the backseat. Sam covered him with an old blanket from the trunk and swallowed another lump as he turned away. Though the tears were close, he could feel a sort of coldness rising up inside him that was hauntingly familiar and made him think of Loki.

He remembered how he'd reacted the first time he'd thought he'd lost Dean forever, and while he knew it probably hadn't been a good way to react, he couldn't quite bring himself to care any more now than he had back then.

Numbness was better than pain. There was just too much of the latter.

He could feel Bobby's eyes on him as they headed back into the house to get Ruby.

On the way out, Bobby finally managed to catch his eye. "Hey son," he said. "I'll take Ruby to the hospital. You up to another long drive back to my place?"

Sam shrugged. "Whatever. Sure." He certainly couldn't wait to get out of Cursed Stepfordland, and it wasn't like he could stop in Fort Wayne on the way and get a hotel room with Dean laying in the backseat covered in blood. Another twelve-hour drive wasn't his first choice of a way to spend his day after driving all night already, but he felt like he'd never sleep again, anyway.

"I'll meet you back there, then," Bobby said. There was something tight around his eyes and mouth, a deepening of the lines already there, and Sam suffered a small pang.

 _He's worried about me._

 _He should be._

He sighed softly and tried to summon a smile. He failed miserably, but it seemed to reassure Bobby at least a little. "I'll meet you there, Bobby," he said softly. "I promise."

"Good boy."

This time as they emerged, the family's van was already gone, but there was a New York taxi idling in its place. A young man, a few years younger than Sam himself, stood next to the taxi, arguing heatedly with John Constantine.

"Why do I have to--"

"Because I said so, Chas."

"But you can't even _drive_ , John."

John snorted. "How hard can it be? A hundred million assholes do it in this country every day."

"Yeah, and half of them do it badly."

"I'll be fine."

"Then what do you need me for, John? Huh? Answer me that."

"I need you to go with him."

Sam laid Ruby out in the front passenger seat of Bobby's car, and he and Bobby exchanged glances. "Go ahead," Sam said firmly. "Get her to a hospital. I'll...deal with these guys."

Bobby reached out and grabbed Sam's shoulder, then dragged him into a tight hug. Sam stood stiffly for a moment, then wound his arms around Bobby and hugged him back. "Be careful," Bobby said softly as they released. "I've heard about this Constantine. He's a good hunter, and he should be on our side, but he doesn't seem to like you too much."

"Who does these days?" Sam replied wryly. "He probably figures I'm the Prince of Darkness, like everyone else does. It's okay, Bobby. Just take care of Ruby, and I'll see you tomorrow - please."

Bobby searched his expression, then nodded and turned away to get into his beater of a car. By now, the argument seemed to have come to its inevitable conclusion and Sam glanced over at the pair to see John get into the driver's side of the taxi. The kid - Chas? - was walking towards Sam with a sullen expression.

No, not quite sullen, almost...blank. There was something weird about him, and Sam felt his skin crawling more and more the closer Chas came.

Bobby drove off and Sam stood his ground, watching the younger man come.

"You're Sam Winchester, right?" Chas asked, stopping just a bit too close for Sam's comfort and looking up at him inquisitively. "I've heard of you. I'm Chas - Chas Kramer."

"Yeah," Sam said shortly. "So Constantine wants you to drive with me?" It hadn't been hard to figure out what they'd been arguing about.

Chas shrugged and smiled crookedly. "Is it okay? He really wants to talk to you, I guess, and he isn't sure where you're headed next."

The crawling sensation was easing, but Sam really didn't like the idea of trying to make conversation with some stranger for twelve hours while his brother's corpse lay cooling in the back seat.

Then again, being alone for twelve hours under the same circumstances seemed like more horror than even he was up to dealing with, too.

"I won't be a bother, I promise," Chas said, eager as a puppy.

"Constantine thinks I'm going to disappear if you aren't there to watch me, I guess," Sam said dully. "Well I won't. But you can ride with me. I hope your friend is okay with driving to South Dakota, though, because that's where we're going."

"He'll manage," Chas said, shrugging.

Well, it just didn't seem worth arguing about. If Constantine wanted to talk to him, that was at least better than shooting at him.

Sam turned around and headed for the Impala. "Get in."

* * *

"...So John, right, he went down into hell using this bowl of water and a cat, and he found Angela's twin sister there, and so he knew that she'd committed suicide and was damned forever. Of course I wasn't there at the time, but I saw the hospital bracelet he brought back out with him and asked him about it later..."

Eleven-and-a-half hours into a twelve hour trip and Sam was only listening with half an ear as Chas regaled him with John Constantine's exploits as a demon hunter - with Chas as his loyal sidekick, and naturally taking a big role in the telling.

He was driving on autopilot now, working his way through yet another triple-shot latte just to keep himself going. Dean wasn't there to rag him for it, and Chas didn't even blink, but ordered one for himself as well. Sam wasn't sure if Chas was _always_ this talkative, or if it was the caffeine, but he was betting on the former.

Chas had started off asking questions, which Sam rebuffed mostly with silence and the occasional terse reply. When this 'conversation' turned to Dean in the backseat Sam had snapped, and Chas subsided into silence for all of thirty seconds before making a very solicitous offer to drive.

That hadn't gone over well, and Sam's reaction to the idea of how Dean would react if anyone other than Sam drove his baby had been very clearly impressed onto Chas' brain.

So ultimately Chas had turned to talking about himself and the people who were most important to him, which basically meant that the trip turned into a John Constantine Extravaganza with Occasional Cameos By Others. Most of whom had outrageously biblical names, or were, apparently, psychic.

Sam wasn't quite certain if he should swallow all this bullshit or not. Chas certainly seemed sincere.

But something Chas said just now twigged his attention and for almost the first time since the interminable trip began Sam glanced over at Chas and interrupted the flow of words. "He went to hell?"

There was a sudden, ringing silence in the car as Chas shut his mouth with a snap and blinked at him. They looked at each other for a few moments while Chas apparently adjusted to the idea that the brick wall he'd been talking to for almost twelve hours had actually talked back.

"Uh, yeah, he did," Chas said with renewed enthusiasm. "He doesn't go there very often, obviously, but that's something he can do. They don't like him there, but he can pop in for a quick look around and then pop back out again. He even taught Angela how to do it, though he never did teach me." This last was said a touch resentfully, though he was still smiling.

"Huh," Sam said, returning his eyes to the road. "Well, you're his apprentice, right? Maybe he just hasn't gotten around to it, yet."

"Well, I never was much of a psychic," Chas said regretfully. "I can't see what's on the backs of cards or anything. It's downright embarrassing."

"So, you're more of the normal demon-killing sort of person, then?"

"Nah, more of the normal driving-the-car sort of person," Chas said wryly.

Sam glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but Chas didn't seem like he was kidding. "Do you know what happened to John's parents?" he asked, trying to leave it casual, though he knew it was a really creepy question to ask.

Chas blinked at him. "I think they live in Newark."

Sam started. "Both of them? Uh...no tragic fires in his past?"

"No..." Chas was looking at him strangely, and Sam hastened to change the subject.

"So what were you doing in New Haven, Indiana?" Why was it that the moment Dean wasn't around, there were suddenly psychics crawling out of the woodwork? Psychics who apparently had nothing to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon?

The confused look cleared from Chas' face and he brightened again. "Well, we heard there was this demon, Lilith, who's breaking the code all over the place. We managed to track her down here, so we came to deport her."

"Deport her," Sam echoed wryly, thinking with a pang that Dean would love that term. "Well, I can tell you that I didn't manage to deport her, myself, though I think she's running scared. She was possessing the body of that woman we carried out of the house."

He decided to forbear mentioning that before Lilith had gotten her, that woman had been possessed by a different demon, one that was - sort of - allied with him.

"So that was why you were there?" Chas asked enthusiastically. "To be honest, we weren't sure if you were there to help the demons, or to fight them."

Sam cast Chas a narrow-eyed glare. "That body in the back seat is my brother," he said tightly. "He was killed by demons. My father was killed by demons. My _mother_ was killed by demons. Hell, _I_ was once killed by demons - ah, almost."

He paused for a moment, his anger faltering at the misstep. He didn't want to get into the issues of soul-selling, contracts and demon blood unless he had to. But he forced himself to finish the tirade, even if it was at a more muted volume. "You can damn well stop accusing me of being one of them."

The younger man's expression had grown progressively more horrified as Sam went on, and he dropped his eyes at the end. "I'm sorry," he said, and it was impossible to stay mad in the face of such sincerity.

Sam returned his gaze to the road and sighed.

The rest of the trip passed in an uncomfortable silence that made the final thirty or so minutes stretch out to an eternity, but finally Sam pulled up in front of Bobby's house and got out of the car.

He glanced back at Dean, just a blanket-covered lump in the back seat, and decided to leave him there for now. He was probably in full rigor, and it was likely he'd be in for a wrestling match to get Dean out of there. He just couldn't face it without Bobby's help. Bobby was probably an hour or two behind him, but at this point it couldn't make a difference.

The taxi that had followed them the whole way pulled in next to the Impala and came to a stop. John got out of the car and turned an impassive glance towards them, casting away an unlit cigarette.

"Hey, you made it," Chas said teasingly.

Sam circled the Impala and faced Constantine, back to Chas. "So I hear you have something you want to talk to me about."

John nodded. "I do."

"You need me, John?" Chas asked. At John's headshake, the younger man went on. "I'll be back in a bit, then. I really need to stretch my, er, legs."

There was a rushing sound and Sam turned in confusion. Chas was gone.

Startled, Sam looked all around them, but there was no sign of him. He turned back to John with a question on his lips, but John shrugged. "Let's go inside and talk."

"But where did he--"

John ignored him and turned away. "Come on, Sam."

They entered Bobby's house and Sam moved to the kitchen. He'd been living here long enough, during the last months of their desperate search for a way to break Dean's curse, that it felt like his own house and he was used to rummaging through Bobby's things.

John made a bemused sound as he crossed the room, and Sam glanced back at him, opening the fridge. "You want a beer?" he asked, grabbing one for himself.

The other man was standing in the middle of the room, looking around at the piles of books and the map spread over the table with its pendulum suspended over it. He looked pointedly up at the ceiling over the door and Sam was reminded about the circle painted there.

"What about it?" Sam asked.

"You walked right through it," John pointed out, shaking his head. "Sure, I'll have a beer." He plunked himself down on the couch while Sam tensed with fury.

"I'm not a damn demon!" he snapped angrily, grabbing a second beer and slamming the fridge door hard enough that the other bottles inside rattled. He stomped over to John and thrust the bottle rudely in his face. "What is your _problem_?"

John glared at him and took the bottle. "Stop getting your panties in a twist," he said coolly. "I'm a psychic. I've been seeing demons since I was a kid. And to me, you don't look human. You're obviously not a full demon, but there's definitely something off about you, and you _look_ a little like a demon."

Sam had completely forgotten about his beer as he sat and stared at John with growing horror. The last few days...Dean had been looking at him funny from time to time. Had he seen something? When he started to 'pierce the veil', he could see demon faces. Had Sam looked like a demon to him, too?

It explained a few things. Moments when Dean didn't want to look at him, or when he stuttered in a funny way. Sam hadn't asked, had thought it was just exhaustion, but then Bobby had mentioned hallucinations, and there had been the cop on the highway.

He swallowed. Hard. "Well I'm not a demon," he said hollowly. "I'm _not_. I...I was fed demon blood when I was a baby. Maybe...maybe that's what you're seeing."

John gazed at him piercingly, and Sam found himself squirming under the weight of it. Finally John looked away and took a drink from his bottle. "Probably that's it," he said. "Is that how Azazel intended to raise you up as his General?"

Sam would have been more shocked about John knowing that much detail about him if he hadn't been ducking other hunters trying to kill him all the previous year. He pressed his lips tightly together and nodded. "But I wouldn't do it," he said firmly. "We killed him."

Irony flickered in John's gaze. "And released a plague of demons on the world," he said.

"We _didn't_ do that," Sam hissed. "We were just there, trying to stop it, when it happened."

He was so goddamned tired of being accused of things when he had done nothing but try to stop the demons since the beginning.

John was unmoved by Sam's frustration, but he set his beer bottle down with a sigh. "All right," he said. "I believe you. Actually, I believed you before we walked in here, or I wouldn't have gotten that far."

Sam wasn't inclined to be mollified by that, and folded his arms. "Then you can teach me how to go to hell, like you taught that woman, and help me get my brother back before he loses himself and becomes a demon."

Finally, he managed to get a reaction from the other man. John blinked, then frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the door. "You heard about this from Chas, didn't you? That feathered idiot."

Sam nodded. "Will you do it?" he asked shortly.

John leaned back against the sofa. "Who says you even _can_ do it?"

"What do you mean?" Sam demanded.

"To go to hell, you have to have at least some latent psychic ability," John said, shaking his head. "That's why I never taught Chas."

"Not a problem then," Sam insisted. "I've been having prophetic dreams for years, and...other things. All of the kids who were given Azazel's blood had psychic abilities." The younger Winchester spread his hands. "My brother Dean sold his soul to Lilith to bring me back to life. We spent the last year trying to find a way to break his contract, and we weren't able to do it in time. I don't expect you to give a crap, but the fact is that I have to do something to help him. I can't stand the idea of him being tortured down there. I just _can't_ leave him there to become one of them."

The other man's eyes were solemn. "You know, time moves differently in hell," he said. "It's been half a day in the real world, which means years have gone by in hell. It may already be too late."

Sam thought of his father's smiling face as he crawled out of hell and helped them kill Azazel, and shook his head firmly. "No, I won't accept that. But that's all the more reason why I have to go right now!"

Now John's eyes narrowed. He obviously still wasn't ready to just give in and give Sam what he wanted. "Do you really think it's going to be as easy as walking in and walking back out with him? You can't take him back out of hell, Sam. What do you think you'll do, click your heels together and suddenly you'll both be standing in the real world? His body is out there in the car. I bet all that'll happen is that you'll bring him out as a ghost."

"You brought that woman's hospital band out. Was it a ghost?" Sam demanded, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. He couldn't give up.

John shook his head. "That's different."

"Well it doesn't matter," Sam insisted. "Even if Dean comes out and is just a ghost, it's better than being in hell. Better to be a ghost than a demon. My...my dad did the same thing, and I'm sure he's okay now. So please." He swallowed and looked beseechingly at John. "Please, John. Please teach me how to go in after him."

The other man signed and picked up his beer bottle again. "All right," he growled. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Chas returned while they were still setting up. He perched himself on the counter in Bobby's mildewed bathroom with its fly-spotted windows while Sam waited impatiently and Constantine filled the bathtub.

Sam was trying not to be dubious about the whole thing.

"What does the water have to do with it?" he asked when John instructed him to get into the tub and he sat down, the water soaking into his jeans and through his underwear and making his balls want to crawl inside his body. It wasn't ice cold, but it wasn't exactly hot, either.

"Good conductor," John said shortly. "Too bad Singer doesn't have a cat."

Sam gave John a baffled look and Chas snickered.

John knelt on the floor and put a hand to the middle of Sam's chest, pushing him back. "Down, under the water."

Sam took a deep breath and leaned back, letting John push him under the water and right down to the bottom. He lay there for a moment, the water rushing in his ears and trickling into his nostrils. His lungs started to burn, and he started to push against the hand holding him down, struggling between his instinct to breathe and his desire to make this work.

Suddenly the thought occurred to him that John might be trying to kill him.

 _Why wouldn't he? He thinks I'm a demon prince, maybe not a demon, but definitely one of **them**. He tricked me into agreeing to do this bullshit thing so he could kill me without a fight!_

Now Sam started to fight in earnest. He pushed at John's arm, kicked, tried to punch, but he couldn't see John right through the distortion of the water, and he somehow managed to evade him. His arm was like an immoveable bar, and Sam realized that he was weakening from lack of oxygen. Bubbles rose from his mouth as he fought to live, fought to breathe--

\--and suddenly he was flat on his back on a gritty surface so hot that even as he leaped to his feet he knew that blisters were rising on his skin. The air itself burned as it passed down his throat into his lungs. He'd been in a few hot places - Arizona in August came to mind - but he'd never experienced anything like this.

He was standing on a flat, blasted plain. Scattered here and there were a few rusted out cars, and some more regular rectangles of wood and stone. He blinked, and realized that he was looking at the foundation of Bobby's house. It looked like it had been blown up, or burned down.

For now he was alone, though he could hear strange rustlings and whisperings, as if something menacing and terrible was lurking _just_ behind him, or behind one of the rusted hulks on Bobby's lawn.

He swallowed his fear, looking around and trying to figure out what to do next. Where was Dean, and how could he ever find him in this burning wasteland?

Then he heard a faint shout, a scream for help, and he started to run.

He followed the sound for what seemed an impossibly long time, scrambling over crumbling fences and dead cars, and other things so decrepit and broken down he couldn't identify them. It seemed like miles and miles, with the burning air scorching his lungs, making him cough and making his eyes stream with tears. The sky was obscured by a yellow, sulphurous mist, and the sun looked like nothing more than a shining disc behind the thick clouds, but beat down fiercely, regardless.

After a while, he heard a scrambling sound and glanced over his shoulder to see that he was being hunted.

Creatures were crawling over the rubble after him, loping at an easy, ground-eating pace that was terrifyingly fast. They were vaguely humanoid, and Sam assumed they were demons, but he'd never seen anything like them in any book. Their skull-like heads were concave, like someone had cut off the top of their heads with a knife and scooped out their brains.

Was this was Dean had seen when he looked at that cop? Or Ruby?

Sam turned away and picked up the pace, but now he could hear them getting closer and closer with every step. There was no way he was going to outrun them, and now he could hear the baying of what had to be hellhounds.

"Fuck," Sam muttered under his breath. Dean's screams were so close. Where was he?

Suddenly he saw a huge pit yawning open in front of him. He was moving too fast, and the demons were right on his heels. There was no way he could stop, and he leaped into open space with a yell that was closer to a scream of terror.

* * *

Bobby drove sloppily into his front yard, parking crooked next to the Impala, and checked that Dean was still sprawled in the back seat before stumping sleepily into his house. He'd been up for a million years, and he wasn't as young as he once was. Sam might have been able to get through two 12-hour trips in one day with a few shots of espresso, but Bobby felt like he wanted to fall over and sleep for a week.

That was, until he followed the sounds of an argument into his bathroom and saw John Constantine seemingly drowning Sam in his goddamned bathtub.

He grabbed the other hunter by the shoulder and dragged him off, slamming him up against the wall. "Just what in _hell_ is going on here?" he demanded.

"Mr. Singer!" the kid on his bathroom counter exclaimed. "Uh, it's not what you think!"

Sam wasn't moving. That...was not good. Bobby slammed John against the wall one more time to make a point, then whirled to try to help his boy.

The water was bubbling, steaming - no, _boiling_ hot - but Sam was lying so still in the water that he looked dead, and his skin wasn't even turning red.

"Be careful!" John exclaimed, grabbing Bobby's hand before he could plunge it into the water. "Listen for a minute."

Bobby fixed John with a glare. "You have ten seconds."

It was Chas who answered first. "Sam wanted John to teach him how to go into hell, so he could try to bring his brother out," he explained hastily. "He's all right."

"Oh really," Bobby said sarcastically, shoving John away from him again and rounding on Chas. "He's in hell, but he's all right. How long has he been down there?"

Now the two men exchanged uneasy glances.

"It should have seemed like only an instant in the outside world," John said. "But it's been at least two minutes now, maybe three."

"Do you _realize_ how much danger he must be in!" Bobby exploded. "They don't exactly like him down there. What if he's already dead?"

"He's not dead," Chas said in a soothing tone that wasn't terribly comforting.

"Does he even know how to get out again? Maybe he's trapped," Bobby said. "For sure, he's too damned stubborn to come out without Dean."

There was a moment of silence, and Bobby shoved an admonishing finger in John's face. "You. Are going in. After him."

John hesitated, looking mutinous, but Chas jumped down from the bathroom counter. Half the bottles went flying, though Bobby didn't see his hand touch them. "Please John!"

"Fine," John snapped. "Don't get your wings all ruffled, idiot. I'll go in after him. Get me a damn washbasin."

* * *

Sam didn't fall far before his feet caught on a heavy chain and he tumbled sideways, off-balance. He grabbed and caught the second chain he passed and hauled himself up onto it, clinging like a limpet and gasping from exertion and fear.

Dean's screams came from below, and he risked a look down.

Far below he could see a spread-eagled shape, caught in the chains. _Crucified_ by them.

Dean.

"Oh God, Dean," Sam croaked. And then he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dean! I'm coming, Dean!"

"Sammy!" Dean called.

"Just hang on--"

"Sammy! Help me Sam! Please, somebody help me!"

Sam wasn't sure if Dean couldn't hear him, or was just too far gone from pain to understand. Certainly Dean's screams were carried clearly to Sam's ears as if the shape of the pit was amplifying them.

He grimly began climbing down towards his brother, ignoring the way the chains bit into his unprotected hands as he went.

A little over halfway there, Sam registered a vibration in the chain that wasn't from his own careful progress. He glanced over his shoulder and saw several demons climbing nimbly down towards him. They climbed like monkeys, unaffected by the rough metal on their tough skin, and were closing the distance uncomfortably fast.

"Well, shit," Sam muttered, and got himself moving again. Quicker.

As he got closer, the sight of Dean's wounds were almost enough to make Sam gag, in no small part because it was his brother who had them.

"Hang on, Dean," he called, over and over. "Sammy's coming. I'm almost there."

He didn't dare look behind him to see how far the demons were, but he could feel the swaying of the chains and the hair at the back of his neck was rising. An animal part of his brain was growing more and more certain that they were only inches away, their claws poised to strike, but the saner part of his mind knew that if he stopped to look, that would only give them more time to close the distance between them.

Now he was almost directly over Dean, about ten feet above him. He couldn't put any weight on the actual chains hooked into Dean's body, so there was a stomach-churning drop to the level below, where several chains criss-crossed thickly only a few feet beneath him.

He caught the chain and steadied himself, bracing himself with a hand on the chain sunk deep into the meat of Dean's right thigh. Even that tiny bit of pressure ripped another wordless scream from Dean's throat.

Sam winced, but he knew things were going to get worse before they got better.

"Okay, Dean, I'm gonna take these out now," Sam said through dry lips. He could now see the demons above him - uncomfortably close, but stymied by his drop. They paced back and forth on the chains, hissing down at them angrily.

"Sammy?" Dean rasped. How he had any voice left after all that screaming, Sam couldn't imagine.

"Yeah," Sam said, trying to get his fingers on the hook in Dean's right hand. "I'm here, Dean."

"Oh no, no, Sammy," Dean sobbed brokenly. "They killed you, too?"

"No!" Sam said forcefully. "I'm getting you out, Dean."

He yanked on the chain, and Dean screamed, then his right hand was free.

"Hold onto this!" Sam ordered, guiding Dean's hand to hold onto the chain. He didn't know if Dean would be able to close his mangled hand at all, let alone support his own weight, but he curled his hand around it and held on tight. It looked like the horrific wound in his hand was already healing.

Sam didn't have time to think about it, yanking on the one through the meat of Dean's shoulder. Releasing that one, plus the one in Dean's right hand, gave him a hell of a lot more range of movement, and it wasn't long before his feet and legs were freed. That left the one thrust right into his stomach, and Sam held his breath as he eased the giant hook out of Dean's flesh.

It came with a gout of blood, and Sam eased Dean down to him, hugging him tightly against him. Dean was semiconscious at best, muttering and crying out incoherently, his arms curled loosely around Sam's shoulders.

The demons were not happy, and one of them finally risked leaping down towards them.

It sailed through the air, teeth bared and claws flashing. Sam ducked and raised a hand towards it futilely, with nothing to use as a weapon except his bare hand.

To his shock, some invisible force slammed into the demon and it was knocked away, left to fall shrieking into the abyss.

Sam struggled for a moment to understand what had just happened. That had seemed like Max's power, which he hadn't been able to use except for one brief moment back in Max's house. He'd somehow managed to fend off Lilith's power, too, though that had been as if he had rendered her powers completely ineffective.

He didn't like it, but it seemed like his powers were coming back, with a vengeance.

Another demon decided to take the plunge, followed by another, but they were a bit more cautious, just jumping down to the next level of chains and crawling towards them. Sam thrust out his hand towards them and nothing happened.

"Damnit! Work!" Sam shouted, beginning to inch away along the swaying chains, and trying to support Dean, hang on to a chain, and use telekinesis at the same time. A demon got close enough to swipe at them, and this time Sam managed to knock it back. It scrambled for purchase, but the next demon just climbed right over it to attack, and that time Sam had to duck as he couldn't manage anything more than a light push.

He lost his balance as he ducked, teetered and fell.

Wind rushed past him as he flailed helplessly, hanging onto Dean with one arm and desperately trying to catch onto a chain with his other. He nearly caught one, ripped half the skin off of his palm trying to hold on, and was falling again.

Then suddenly a hand shot out of the darkness and closed over his wrist. He grasped at it gratefully as he swung free, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket as it took the full weight of both himself and Dean.

"C-climb, damnit," he heard from above, and looked up into John Constantine's strained face.

"John!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Get Dean, please!"

"Fuck this," John said, shaking his head, and closed his eyes in concentration.

Suddenly Sam couldn't breathe. He exploded upwards desperately, not understanding what had happened and only aware that he didn't know where Dean was. Water streamed off of him, and he felt hands on him.

"Hey, hey Sam, are you okay?"

He blinked water from his eyes and looked around, recognizing Bobby. "Where's Dean!" he demanded, clutching at Bobby's shirt. "Where's Dean, Bobby? I had him! He was right here."

"I'll get him." The new voice was Chas, who darted out of the room.

John appeared in the doorway, looking haggard. Smoke was rising from his clothing. He took a look at Sam, apparently just to satisfy himself that he was okay, because he immediately turned away and fished in his pockets, coming up with a cigarette and sticking it between his lips as he walked away.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He struggled up out of the water, leaning on Bobby as he stepped out of the tub and streamed water onto the floor. The whole room was filled with steam, and it was as hot as a sauna. What had happened?

"Okay, Sam?" Bobby asked again. Was he watching him too closely?

Sam nodded. "I'm okay. It got a little hairy down there, though."

"I don't doubt it," Bobby said fervently. But he gave Sam a bit of a lingering look that he was afraid to question.

Sam found himself leaning on Bobby a bit as they walked out of the bathroom together, exhausted, though not actually injured. Though the skin on his hands had been literally ripped apart by the heavy metal chains and razor-sharp meat hooks, they were now whole and undamaged.

A commotion outside made them both break into a run, exhaustion all but forgotten, and Sam beat Bobby out the door by a narrow margin.

What he saw nearly sent him to his knees with relief.

Dean was on his feet, just by the Impala. Alive. Spattered with blood, and pale as hell even from this distance, but alive and even energetic.

Unfortunately, he was threatening Chas with Ruby's knife.

"What the hell are you, huh?" he shouted. "Who are you guys? Where the fuck are Sam and Bobby?"

"Hey, calm down," Chas exclaimed, waving his hands defensively and backing off. "I'm...I'm nothing to be worried about."

"I'm here, Dean!" Sam called, trotting towards them at a slightly faster pace. Dean's head came up and the relief in his eyes was palpable. He edged around Chas, giving him a wide berth, and gave John a hard-eyed look before hurrying over to Sam.

"Are you okay? I...I thought you were dead," Dean said.

Ready for a hug, Sam was blind-sided by a hard smack on the shoulder as Dean went on. "Why did you go after me, you stupid fuck? You really think this is going to help? Lilith's just gonna come for me tonight!"

There was still blood all over Dean's clothes, which were ripped to shreds. Sam found his gaze caught by the deep gashes in Dean's chest, which were still unhealed. They weren't bleeding, but Sam could see that they were deep.

 _Why aren't they bleeding?_ Sam thought, his mouth suddenly going dry. _What did I do?_

"No, she won't," Chas said quietly. "When you went to hell, you fulfilled your end of the contract. She can't touch you now."

Dean turned towards him, his posture turning sort of tentatively aggressive. "And how the fuck do you know that? Sammy, who is this freak?"

Sam couldn't figure out why Dean was so put out about Chas. He was practically ignoring John, who stood nearby but out of the way, quietly working his way through a cigarette with the air of an addict who had just been pushed a little too far.

"Dean, this is Chas Kramer," Sam said helplessly. "And John Constantine. Uh, they helped me to get you out. They're _hunters_."

"He might be a hunter," Dean said, jabbing a thumb towards John. Then the thumb swung accusingly back at Chas. "But he is something else."

"Are you saying he's a demon?" Sam asked, stunned. Chas certainly hadn't betrayed himself once, if he was one. He'd walked straight into the house without getting caught by the anti-demon trap over the front door, and John seemed to trust him implicitly, while he'd shown open suspicion towards Sam.

Chas' hands were on his hips now. "I'm not a damn demon."

"He's right," John said, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. "Definitely not a demon."

"And besides, there's something more important right now," Chas added firmly. "Dean, how do you feel?"

That brought Dean up short. "Huh? I feel fine." Chas and John exchanged a significant look, and Dean sputtered. "What?"

"You're dead," John said wryly.

There seemed to be nothing anyone could say to that. The two Winchesters and Bobby stared at one another for a moment, all of them gasping like landed fish.

"Damnit," Dean finally said. "I knew it couldn't last."

Sam caught Dean by the arm, his fingers gripping so hard that he might have left bruises. "You can't be dead," he said.

The skin under his hand was cold, though. Sam suddenly felt nauseous. He looked at John, his chest so tight he couldn't breathe. "He can't be dead. If he's dead, then why is he up and walking around?"

"Ever heard of a zombie?" John said callously. "Come inside, all of you."

Sam turned slightly and caught Dean looking at him. Their eyes met and locked, and Dean shook his head. "Well, I'm not about to go nuts and kill anyone," he said firmly. "If I'm a zombie, I don't feel like one."

Bobby put a hand on Dean's shoulder, and the other on Sam's. "We'll work this out, boys. I think John's got an idea."

 _It's not the end of the world if he's a zombie,_ Sam thought philosophically as they walked back towards the house. _At least he's still here. Maybe he won't go bad like that other one._

John didn't waste any time once they were inside. He watched as Dean walked in and out of the bewitched circle without a single falter, and nodded with approval. "Okay, good," he said. "You're not a demon. Just a displaced soul inhabiting a dead body. But that, we can do something about."

"We can?" Dean asked. Sam suspected he - and maybe Bobby - was the only one who heard the almost childlike hope and confusion in his tone.

"Sure," John said. "You think if this were the end of the road, I wouldn't have mentioned it to Sam before teaching him how to go into hell after you?"

"So it was _you_?" Dean growled irritably. "Damn idiot, risking himself on something like that."

"You're welcome," Sam said wryly.

Chas was sitting on the couch, and patted the cushion next to him. "Come sit here, Dean. I know what to do."

Dean gave him a hard look, then glanced back at Sam. Sam shrugged. It wasn't like he knew what was going on, either.

It was Bobby that gave Dean the impetus to sit down. "Go on, Dean," he said gruffly. "We're _all_ going to keel over if you pansy around much longer."

Grumbling, Dean crossed the room and plunked himself down on the couch next to Chas. "What are you going to do?"

"Well..." Chas shifted until he was kneeling on the couch, facing Dean. "It's going to look a little gay, but I swear it's not." John snorted softly, and Sam blinked as a warm flush rose up on Chas' cheeks.

"What--?"

Before Dean could fully register his confusion, Chas leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

The glow started with Chas, rising from his chest and suffusing his body with a white light. Sam started to blink as it got brighter and brighter, and he suddenly realized that great white wings were outlined with the glow as well, spreading from Chas' back.

Then the glow poured into Dean and he gasped loudly, freezing in place as the light poured into his body, lighting him up from within.

Though he was determined to watch from beginning to end, Sam finally had to shield his eyes as the light continued to build, and when it faded he blinked afterimages from his vision. All of his exhaustion had suddenly fled, and he felt better than he had in days, maybe weeks. Maybe he'd never felt this healthy and fit in his whole entire life.

But the feeling he was left with was caused not just by the healing power of that glow, but by what he'd seen, and the conclusion he had to draw from it.

Chas was an angel. A bona fide angel.

All the blood had disappeared from Dean's clothes, and Sam could see that there was no trace of his injuries, either. His skin was suffused by a healthy glow, not pale anymore.

Dean was staring at Chas in complete and utter amazement.

"S-sam?" he said into the silent room.

It felt a bit like speaking in church, which was weird, because it was still just Bobby's house. Sam cleared his throat and found his voice. "Yeah, Dean?"

Dean's expression was awestruck, but his tone was more of a mixture of bemusement and thoughtfulness than anything else. "I...I think I just found religion."

Sam couldn't help but grin, and there were chuckles all around as the tension was broken. "Funny, I guess it was here all the time."

His brother was back, and he was the same old Dean.


End file.
